


Pheromone Rush

by mistyzeo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Omega, Established Relationship, Knotting, M/M, Mates, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John, Omega Verse, Stair Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:16:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1543967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stairs are a long way from the ideal place for the first knotting of the cycle, but sometimes the need just comes on too fast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pheromone Rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> GuixonLove asked for "[Sherlock] coming home to find [John] has gone into heat a few days earlier than they planned and taking care of his mate." I tried not to do too much hand-wave-y omegaverse biology, but I couldn't avoid it altogether. WOLF DICKS. :D

John braced his forearms against the stairs, trying to spread his legs wider within the confines of his own jeans around his knees. Sweat was running down his spine and prickling under his arms, and Sherlock’s body covering his wasn’t helping matters. It felt about a hundred degrees in the flat, but John knew that was only the result of his animal biology's desire to get as naked as possible. Sherlock mouthed at the back of John’s neck, nibbling, kissing, and leaving little marks, as Sherlock’s hips ground into John’s backside, pressing the swelling girth of his knot against John’s sensitive, overstimulated entrance.

“Fuck, get it in,” John growled, reaching back to grab at Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock groaned and shoved hard, pushing John’s thighs into the edge of the stair, but the discomfort was nothing compared to the shudder of satisfaction that rippled up John’s spine at the stretch of his hole around the fat base of Sherlock’s cock.

“That what you wanted?” Sherlock murmured in John’s ear. “God, I want to fill you-- ergh!” He bit down on the back of John’s shoulder to keep himself quiet.

John laughed, canting his hips back and burying his face in his arms again. Sherlock said a lot of stupid shit when John’s heat came around, and he was always trying to fight it, keep his mouth shut for once, not let the Alpha in him take control of every part of his magnificent brain.

“No, keep talking,” John said. His cock was throbbing, jutting out from his body, and his thighs were wet with his arousal. His whole body felt flushed, and he needed _more._ He wouldn't be satisfied until Sherlock's knot was locked inside him, pressing against all his nerve endings, and Sherlock was spurting his load of come deep into John's body. His womb wasn't the right receptacle for Sherlock's sperm (a male Omega needed the ovum from a female Alpha to become impregnated, and John hadn't been knotted by one since he was in University), but jesus christ did the smell of him work for John. Sherlock in rut smelled like wood smoke and warm wool and the sharp tang of rubbing alcohol, like it was in his blood, and it smelled like home.

"John, oh fuck," Sherlock groaned, "I want to rub myself all over you; I want to lick your arse out till you're sobbing for it, you taste so fucking good." He slipped a hand between them and pressed his fingers against his knot where John's wetness still leaked out. John shuddered at the touch, trapped by his trousers, bruised by the stairs, aching.

"Please," he said. "Sherlock, fucking do it, make me come, and when we make it to the god damn bed you can lick me till your tongue goes numb."

Sherlock made a strangled noise and shoved again, and John shouted aloud as he was finally breached completely, his arse clamping down on the sudden intrusion. Sherlock's pubic hair against his backside was soft and thick, and Sherlock's hands covered John's on the stair. John laced their fingers together. Sherlock kissed him, sweetly, on the edge of his shoulder scar, just as John's body began to shake.

The orgasm came in waves, advancing and retreating, and every spasm was stronger than the last. John moaned and trembled, eyes squeezed shut, aware of nothing but the feeling of Sherlock all around him, inside him, covering him and protecting him and claiming him, and the pleasure that thundered through him. His ejaculation, when it came, was no more than it ever was during the rest of his cycle, but the climax went on long after, until John was panting and his legs felt like jelly and he could barely think, let alone move.

With a kiss to John's spine between his shoulder blades, Sherlock dragged himself upwards and eased his hips back. His cock came free with a wet pop, and John swore into his folded arms.

"Sorry," Sherlock murmured, stroking down John's back. John sagged on the stairs to catch his breath. Eventually he was able to lift his head, and he peeked over his shoulder at Sherlock.

Sherlock was a mess. His shirt was torn open and his trousers were around his ankles; his hair was sticking up in at least four more directions than normal, and sweat was drying on his bare chest and along his hairline; his face and neck were flushed pink; his eyes were still abnormally dilated. John was certain he didn't look much better.

"Should have kept better track of the whole thing," John said, wincing as he pushed himself upright and considered gathering some of his dignity around him.

Sherlock shook his head and licked his lips. "You're early," he said. "You're not supposed to go into _oestrus_ for another week."

"Bloody hell, no wonder," John said.

"I think it was the adrenaline," Sherlock said, now looking thoughtful.

John managed to pull his jeans back up, and winced at the squelchy slide of come and natural lubrication between his arse cheeks. "No," he said.

"No, I think it was. Last Tuesday, with that business with the locked skip—"

"I mean, no, you're not experimenting on my hormone levels right now." John stood on wobbly legs, his knees like water, and looked down at Sherlock from the third stair. "Because I'm going to be busy wringing you dry for the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, and I'm going to need your full attention."

Sherlock's face, which had begun to pinch in annoyance at the denial, relaxed again, and he smirked up at John. "Oh, I think you have it," he said.

"Besides," John went on, offering him a hand up and then hauling him to his feet, "don't you think mortal danger would lengthen the cycle? Make it _less_ likely that I produce offspring, rather than more?"

"You're being terribly unfair," Sherlock said, herding John up the stairs to the second floor bedroom. "I'm torn between scientific exploration and carnal satisfaction."

John snorted and began to strip out of his sweaty, heat-soaked clothing. "You are not," he said, "but if you're still thinking about it when I'm done with you, maybe we can talk about it for next time."

"You spoil me," Sherlock said, slipping his arms around John's waist and nosing at the curve of his neck.

"Well," John said, tipping his head back and inhaling deeply the scent of his mate, "I know what you like."


End file.
